Knowing
by Kawaii-kuro
Summary: (Warnings for AU, OOC) Appearances are often deceiving... especially when presented as temptation.


A/N: BUUUUUUHHHHHH. This story. Oh, man you guys, this story. This is a remarkably late reward to an extremely patient lady with amazing talent (I'm looking at you, Dragoness!). I started writing it when a really rough patch of my life really started up (feelings, blah, blah, blah) and it put me about, oh, TWO YEARS behind schedule. Full disclosure, the story suffered quite a bit as it went through a million (approximate number) re-writes. For her amazing patience, I owe DragonessBlade soooo much more than this. And so, she gets another story. A better one, hopefully. Because, frankly, I hate this story .-. (Is that bad? Is that like hating one of your kids? Maybe just hating the stupid one?). Anyway, enjoy this shit-show. I'ma go talk to Dragoness and see what I can do to make amends.

Special thank you to Baruga for your help sorting through this for errors. Naturally, after fixing the mistakes you helped me find, I did some more tweaking. This means there are probably more mistakes (and they're all mine!).

* * *

There was a strange quality to the echo of his footsteps as Abbot Wilson walked briskly down the darkened hallways. On every other step there was another sound, muffled by the light shuffling of papers, which came from the only book the man ever bothered to carry. He held the weathered spine firmly in his hands, open to no page in particular, because he was only pretending to read as he searched out the source of the echo. The pattern of the sound did not suggest footsteps. No, it was something else, almost like the tap of a leather-bound rod hitting human skin. He shivered at the thought, knowing there was little coincidence in _why_ his mind wandered down that particular road. It happened only weeks ago, when he was asked to observe the penance of a townsman by their newest Priest…

He could not be faulted for his enthusiasm, that much was certain, but Brother Grayson _certainly_ had interesting _methods_. When it was learned that the townsman had come to confess to his sin of carnal debauchery, the atmosphere of the room changed completely, mirroring the heated look in the pristine blue eyes of the young Priest. Slade noted each detail, each flick of the young man's tongue as he drew out, one by one, each and every confession the man could give them. The Abbot wasn't sure if he was only imagining the quickened breath of both men, or if he was simply projecting his own shortness of breath onto them, either way, there was a strange sense of guilt that was building inside the Abbot's gut. It felt heavy, deceptively warm, and sinfully _wet_. He could do nothing but stand in observance as the scene unfolded before him…

* * *

"Your sin was of flesh, so your penance should be as well," Grayson spoke, his voice and face were calm and loving as any of the other Fathers, but his eyes were excited, almost burning like embers when compared to the cold marble of the church. He then produced a thin wooden branch, wrapped in what seemed to be leather. It was pliable, chosen specifically for its flexibility so that it would not break against the backs of those Grayson meant to punish.

The Abbot could only watch in ambivalence as the sins were literally _beaten_ from the man by his brother of the church. Such physical forms of penance were not so unusual… but there was an oddity in the way the men interacted. Sometimes a Priest would ask his confessor to beg the saints forgive their earthy trespasses, but the heated, almost hissing voice of the Priest as he drew out more details, more cries, more _sin_ from the townsman, gave him the very distinct impression that their actions were not really a form of penance. The man was asking for divine forgiveness, that was true, but every twitching muscle and panting breath made Slade almost wonder if they were both _enjoying_ the punishment. He dared not look for stains on the man's clothing as he cried out violently, his body shaking as he threw his head back in some bizarre display of pain… or perhaps something else.

And then came the strangest little query in the Abbot's brain… was _he himself_ enjoying the punishment? His chest tightened as Grayson lifted the rod and brought it down once again, marring the man's back with another red line. The blue eyes flickered up, catching the Abbot's eye in his gaze before delivering a dark and knowing look. Slade cleared his throat and quietly forced himself not to react any further, especially when the younger holy man let out the tiniest laugh through his nose and continued working.

* * *

Abbot Wilson did not report the darker details of what he witnessed, only mentioned that Brother Grayson's methods were… unique and perhaps a bit overzealous. He mentioned nothing of how the townsman kissed the Priest's feet, or how Grayson seemed to manipulate the man's devotion into giving more to the collection box at the front of the grand church. He also chose to keep his personal details very private, namely that he became aroused shortly after locking eyes with the Priest. Such things happened, surely, but they were never to be _spoken_ of, never _acted_ on.

The Abbot saw to the punishment of his own sin… many times. But the specters of his memory were haunting and frequent, worse yet, self-flagellation no longer seemed to be effective forms of punishment, or even distraction. With each swing of the discipline, each sting of the whip hitting his skin, the Abbot became more entranced by unintentional fantasies and sinful blue eyes. On multiple occasions, the sudden, unwelcome memories of the Priest as he gave penance would swim into his conscious, making him hard and dripping as the smell of his blood floated through the air.

And after each failed mortification, the Abbot only felt colder, more confined by the thick slabs of marble of his church and by the guilt of his own sin. On some very small level, he admitted that he was not craving the purity of salvation, but the fire in the Priest's eyes. There was warmth there, passion, and no matter how the cold shadows of the church bathed him in sanctuary, he was drawn to that heat like a moth to flame.

* * *

"Good evening, Abbot," the young voice called to him and the man tensed, looking up from his book and finding the very Priest he was thinking of leaning against a thick pillar and looking pleased. In his hand was an apple, which he threw in to the air and caught in a steady rhythm, letting the candlelight bounce off the dark red surface, which had been polished so much that it almost looked like garnet. At least the sound had finally been identified, but that left Slade with a different sort of problem.

"Good evening, Brother," he began, tightening his grip over the Bible in his hands as he watched the red, shiny apple bouncing. He forced himself to laugh and smile, "The middle of winter and yet you carry such a ripened treat? Where on earth did that thing come from?"

"I wondered the very thing myself, really." The younger man shrugged, holding the fruit in his hand and twirling it between his fingers. "I was walking through the garden, admiring the snow drifts when I saw it. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes, but appearances are often deceiving." His grip tightened over the Bible as the Priest's eyes shifted from the apple to gaze at him, knowingly. "Especially when presented as temptation."

"You think I'm trying to deceive you… or perhaps to tempt you?" The Priest smirked, moving close with such fluid, perfect strides that the image of a snake slithered through the Abbot's mind.

"Don't twist my words." Abbot Wilson stood his ground, forcing a smile to remain as the young man came closer, bringing with him the smell of the apple, which he twirled again in his hands. They were playing a dangerous game.

A flicker of hellfire ran through the Priest's eyes as his smile deepened. "Oh? I thought you of all people would appreciate a good twist of the tongue. You chose your words so carefully during your report, after all."

"I'm curious to learn how you came to know the details of my report, Brother," the Abbot's smile tightened and his throat became dry and constricted, as if the proverbial snake was coiling around his neck. "It was a private conversation between the Monsignor and myself."

"Privacy has little right inside a church, Abbot. These walls _echo_ secrets, truths and falsifications alike. The smaller the whisper, the bigger the ricochet, it seems… But then again, nothing howls like the cat o' nine tails…" His eyes darkened as he lifted the apple, studying it. "You seem to be favoring that one, lately. Care to tell me why?"

The Abbot stiffened, sensing a trap in the air, "I do not."

"No need to tell me, really, I already know," the Priest tittered. "Though, I suppose you'll tell me there is danger in knowing, won't you? Of course. It was because of knowledge that we were cast out from the garden."

"And yet you pester me for answers. Answers you've no right to hear," the Abbot growled and turned away. "What I do as penance is between the Lord and my soul, not your ears. Now, excuse me."

"Oh, come, come, Abbot. To err is human, is it not?" The Priest circled around him, pressing the apple against his throat and stopping him in his tracks. "Why hide it?"

Abbot Wilson leered down at the Priest, his eye boring into the pretty blue. "Instead, why not tell me what troubles _you_, my son? Your actions are as uncommonly bold as your eyes. They rip you of your deceptions and expose your true intent."

The young man laughed. "_My_ deceptions. Now _that_ is rich. _I _am not the one hiding my sins."

"No, you revel in them."

"Does that anger you? Watching but never touching? Feeling but never enjoying? You punish yourself _over_ and _over_ again, but it's never enough to climax, is it?"

"I was not-"

"Don't lie. Not to me. You can fool the others, even yourself, but you can't trick me," the Priest lifted the apple and pressed it to the man's lips. "You have paced these hallways every night since you witnessed the townsman's penance. I know you were waiting for me. Waiting to be tempted so you could deny your heathen urges, solidify your pact to God, and prove your choices right… but I won't let you, Abbot Slade Joseph Wilson. I know you better than you know yourself, and I know that you will not deny a ripened fruit once the juice is crushed against your tongue."

The elder glared, knowing with all his being that the Priest was right. The apple pressed harder against his teeth, breaking the skin of the fruit and sending a rush of sweetness to his tongue. All the while, the Priest stared at him with those knowing eyes, peering into his soul with the fire and venom that seemed well suited to such a temptation. The Abbot's lips quivered when the fruit was pulled away, leaving them naked and cold once more.

The Priest kept his eyes locked on the Abbot's single eye as he bit into the apple, letting the ripened juice drip over his lips as he bit the severed piece in half, swallowing part of it before opening his mouth and leaning into the Abbot's mouth, presenting the proverbial forbidden fruit in more ways than one. Abbot Wilson did not struggle, only leaned in very slowly until his tongue brushed against the other, taking the offering and swallowing it in one large chunk. He could feel in sliding down his throat, scraping the sides until it finally disappeared into the cavern of his belly. Before he knew it, the Priest's tongue was with his again, moving inquisitively and snaking around his mouth, tasting the remnants of the apple and the darker more sinful flavor of a man's kiss. In the back of his mind, he could hear the apple falling to the cold floor with a crushing splatter, just as the Priest bit his bottom lip and he released the Bible in his hands.

The Abbot forced himself not to flinch when a pair of hands coiled around his sides, fingers slithering against the deep and countless marks left by the mortification. Abbot Wilson did not know why he was so surprised by the Priest's affinity for pain or why he himself acquired such a dark and tingling pleasure whenever the hands swept hard over his marks. He knew that their actions were damnable, but the taste of the unholy kiss cleared his mind of such certainties and left him blindly wanting more.

When the kiss broke, both men were panting, but it was Father Grayson who ended the silence with a low and pretty chuckle. He gave a smirk as he whispered, "Come, Abbot. Let me show you what you have denied yourself for these long, cold years…"

* * *

The church, it seemed, still held a few secrets of her own, namely a small space behind a gilded antique tapestry that led down a narrow, winding staircase and into a small room that seemed to resemble a torture chamber.

"An exorcism room," the Priest announced almost gleefully as he lit candle after candle until the room was filled with a soft glow. "Many of these devices have been adapted for use in our modern asylums. Obviously, they do little to cure demons or minds, but they are the perfect tools for my purposes."

"Purposes?" The Abbot blinked, recognizing the meaning of the plural word. "Just how many have you taken down to this room?"

The young man's eyes flickered with a dark fire, "Too many to count, and let me say, that you are not the first clergy to visit my chamber."

The Abbot's eyebrows knitted together and he frowned, "Who?"

"Your jealousy is touching, _Brother_, but tonight isn't about them. It's about _you_."

"Who?" The Abbot's eye was stern, causing a quirk of the Priest's brow and his smirk to darken.

Father Grayson reached for the first button of his cassock, nimbly undoing it. "There," he gave a short nod to a blackened area of stone, which held a small brass container filled with soot and charred wood, "is where I branded Sister Beatriz da Costa with smoldering crucifixes." He undid the second and third buttons. "She carries them under her rosary… And there," he motioned to a wall of crude looking instruments before letting his fingers fall further down the row of buttons, "I hit Brother John Irons with that cane until he cried for God and came all over his robes… And there, I chained Sir Arthur Orin to the chair and tipped him back into ice cold water. I had to revive him from death's very grip when I pulled him up, breathless and blue." The black cassock fell to the cold stone, leaving the Priest's body naked if not for the soft glow of the candles. He gave a low hum of a laugh, knowing that the Abbot eyes were on him and him alone. "And this…" He turned, watching the surprise form on the man's face as he exposed the countless red marks that lay over his chest, "is from His Excellency, Bishop Luthor. He favors the cat o' nine tails as well."

"So you take punishments as well as give them?" The Abbot asked, his eye raking over the marks and secretly comparing the red-breasted Priest to a spring robin. What a song he must have made at those marks.

"When it suits me. Though with His Excellency, it is hardly a matter of my preferences."

"And what of my preferences?"

"I didn't realize you had formed any," the Priest gave a smirk that could have very easily been a sneer. "By your actions, I assumed you had never ventured a tryst outside the Holy Scripture."

"Then you assumed correctly. My body remains clean." He noted the look of satisfaction in the Priest's eyes. "It is my mind that has plagued me. Endless fantasies, ripped from dreams and shadows… I have taken you countless time; again and again while you shudder around me, clawing and biting as if you intend to take my very soul."

The Priest moved forward, fingers slithering up the man's cassock, undoing the buttons and smoothing his hand against the silver chest hair. "For all you know, I do…" The young man smiled at the tiniest of shudders that ran through his prey. It was all part of the game, and Father Grayson knew how to play it very well. Abbot Wilson was not a particularly a tough opponent when it came to seduction, he simply needed the right balance between temptation and challenge. But what would occur after his restraints of innocence had finally been lifted? That much was uncertain. A darker part of the Priest loved the thrill and danger that came with not knowing, but a wiser part told him to be wary. The Abbot had an untapped rawness to him, one that could prove dangerous if he wasn't careful… a lesson he had already learned too well with the Bishop.

But he _had_ to have him. It wasn't even a matter of _want_ anymore. From the moment Father Grayson saw the Abbot, kneeling, whispering in prayer, dripping with refused temptation, he knew he could not rest until he was within reach. Manipulation of the Monsignor was easy enough; after all, he was one of the most frequent visitors to the chamber and willingly allowed himself to be manipulated when under the spell of a skilled master. Arranging the Abbot's attendance at the townsman's penance was as easy as a little tease of hot wire against naked flesh, and finding out that the man had not reported the more intimate details of the event was as simple as a few teasing words and careful touches.

"Kiss me," the Priest whispered, a low and almost pleading hum as his fingernails grazed the man's chest, not quite a scratch, but more than a tease.

All men were weak when paired with the right touch. The Abbot seemed to prefer a light, but stinging graze of fingers, combined with smooth and slow pressure against the skin. He liked his kisses deep, aggressive, and wet. It was a rare occasion where the Priest felt dizzy from a simple lip-lock, but something about the man stopped his breath in his throat and made his heart shiver inside him. He pulled away, a heated blush on his cheeks as those perfect blue eyes gave away his motives. The Abbot stiffened when his trousers were undone and slipped onto the cold floor. A hand closed around his member, stroking at an eager pace. His eye locked onto the blue and for the tiniest of moments he looked doubtful.

"Don't hide it," the Priest whispered, his grasp over the man's shaft tightening until it became painful. "Don't hide from me. Give in to it… give me your pain and your pleasure… Submit to me and let me watch your expressions when you relinquish that last shred of innocence."

The Abbot frowned and the Priest bit his tongue. _Submission_ was a dangerous concept at times, for some it ignited a passion, for others, it squandered it. The contemplative look in the Abbot's eye told him that he might need to pick up the pace in the event that the man's doubt spread further in his brain.

He leaned in with a devilish smirk, tongue darting against the older man's ear like a snake as he whispered, "The taste of forbidden fruit still lingers on your lips, but taste alone is not enough to satisfy your hunger, is it?" He laughed, fingers coiling about the shaft and the tip of the man's erection, thumb digging into the moistened slit. "You are going to fuck me tonight, Abbot. I will show ecstasy beyond your cruelest fantasies and reveal your truest self. Agree to stay with me on this one night. Let me give you what you want… what you _need_… I will satisfy your hunger better than any mortification. All I ask is your consent." He gave an unseen smirk. Giving the power of choice to an indecisive playmate was a risky trick, but Abbot Wilson was not a man of indecisiveness. He had already allowed himself to travel far enough down a darkened path; despite any lingering doubts, he would not turn back now, not when the choice was his and his alone. "Give me your consent," the young man whispered, teeth grazing the man's neck, "and I will give you everything you ask for."

The Abbot drew in a deep, even breath, his eye calm as his fingers played through the raven hair of the young Priest. "You have it."

A smile spread across the Father's lips as his blue eyes darkened. He decided that it was best to start slowly. He lowered himself to his knees and wet his lips, hand stroking the prize before him. A good dose of pleasure before the pain could do wonders for bending a new playmate to his will, and as he lifted his eyes to meet the gaze of the Abbot, he could feel the man's resistance wearing thin. His mouth watered as he slowly parted his lips and let his tongue flick against the man's head, sliding over the moistened slit as he felt a burst of precum splatter against his upper lip. The older man took a small inhale, something akin to a gasp that evolved into an almost silent groan when the Priest opened his mouth wider and took the tip inside. He rolled the flat of his tongue over the sensitive surface, repressing his chuckle as the member quivered in his grasp and unleashed another gush of liquid. As his hand slid over the shaft, moving the skin under his grip, his tongue wiggled against the man's frenulum and produced a hard sound of pleasure from the Abbot.

With a smile and a low hum, the Priest leaned forward, taking in more and more of the man's length into the heated cavern of his mouth. He let out a long moan, knowing that the vibrations were enough to drive any man over the edge, let alone a _virgin_. It wasn't much of a surprise when, after only a few bobs of his head, the man came inside his mouth, streams of thick liquid spraying against his tongue and shooting back into his throat. The Priest pulled back, turning his head to the side and coughing at the droplets that tickled his windpipe.

"My apologies…" the Abbot whispered, his voice hovering somewhere between genuine sincerity and complete carelessness, a fact not lost on the Priest. Perhaps it was time to show the man who was _really_ in change.

"Take off your robe, Brother," the younger man said as he pushed himself to his feet, making his arousal known. His heart fluttered darkly when the stiff fabric cassock fell to the stone in a pile, leaving the man naked save for the thick beaded cross around his neck. It was even better than the Priest had hoped… The man before him was older than most of his partners, but his skin was tight against his muscles, which were surprisingly well defined considering the lack of manual labor that their positions asked of them. He smirked as his eyes raked over the lines and dimples of the man's chest and stomach, admiring the deep grooves that led from his hips to his groin, which did not appear to be soft despite his previous release. He always loved getting new toys, but this was a real prize. "Sit," he said as he motioned to a vacant chair.

The chair was made of gilded iron bars, weaved into a stunning pattern that was rooted into a pair of thick chains and manacles. The twisted metal was covered in a black patina that time had faded into a handsome burgundy, and it was apparent that there were once precious stones embedded in design that had long ago been robbed. The back was narrow and quite tall, it usually prevented his playmates from tilting their heads back in either rapture or agony, but the Abbot was larger than most and would miss out on that feature. The arms of the seat, however, were the perfect height, low and strong, they would fall right at the man's hips. The Priest had already prepared the size of restraints to match his playmate's wrists and ankles even before waiting with his apple in the hallway. Pleasure favored the prepared, in his mind. The Abbot took his seat, casting an unsure glance as the Priest smirked and fastened the manacles around his ankles and wrists, trapping his arms behind the chair while his legs were forced slightly apart.

Brother Grayson took a moment to admire his prize before he turned to a small chest, which he opened and pulled out a long piece of light material. "Precious silk," the young man said as he displayed the ribbon to the man. "This particular type is a light, but very durable weave," he knelt before the other, smoothing the fabric up his thighs and against his shaft, which leaked out a large, pearly drop. "I'm going to tie it around your scrotum, it will impede your testes from retracting, prolonging your ability to climax… it might also cause you considerable discomfort. I hope you don't mind."

"I'll let you know if I do," the Abbot said, his voice becoming more authoritative, but also more cautious. It was a sure sign that he noticed the scales tipping against his favor, but it was too late to pull back; after all, the man _was_ chained up in what was, for all practical purposes, a _torture chamber_.

"No, you won't," the Priest licked his lips, tugging on the silk to reveal that it was actually two pieces, one of which was forced into the Abbot's mouth as a gag and tied around the back of his head in a tight but hurried knot. "The virtues of silence, Brother." He chuckled at the glare the man gave before returning to the man's groin, quickly winding the other ribbon tightly around the base of his sac. "There," he gave a snake-like smile and slid his tongue from the base of the thick cock to the tip, where he wriggled and flicked his tongue against the slit. He pulled back for a moment, building up saliva inside his mouth before parting his lips and forcing himself down on the length.

Abbot Wilson bucked and shivered at the sudden tightness around his cock, he could feel the heated walls of the young man's throat constricting as he bobbed and swallowed. He let out a low groan, moving his hips as best as he could with the restrictions in place. He growled as his partner pulled back, licking his lips and rising to his feet.

"Don't growl yet, we've hardly even started," the Priest mused, crawling over the chair and straddling the man's hips. His blue eyes fixated on the single grey eye as he moved into position, taking the Abbot's member in his hand and slowly lowering himself. Both men gave a tiny sound when the head of the Abbot's erection pressed hard against the puckered entrance, meeting with resistance for only a small moment before his body yielded and the length slid inside him. The Abbot gave a long, hard groan, throwing his head back and biting against his gag. "There… see?" The younger gave a breathy chuckle as he sank to the very base of the man's erection. "Aah… You're bigger than you look…" He tested the length and girth with a roll of his hips. "Must be how you lost your eye," he smirked and tapped his fingers against the patch, earning a glare in the process. That, naturally only lasted as long as it took for the Priest to clench around the man, giving a haughty grin as he did so. "You're inside me, Abbot," he whispered, as he took in the man's expression. "How does it feel?" The smirk returned at the lack of a response and the Priest kept moving.

From then on, it was a nearly silent dance, broken by the soft breathing, shallow gasps, and friction of skin against skin. The Priest hovered above the Abbot, lips parted and sometimes pressed against the other's gagged mouth, feeling the heat and the moisture from his strained breath. The younger man moved with skill, positioning each arc and downwards thrust with dark intention. The Abbot moved to the best of his ability, testing the chains and moving his hips. The confinement, he assumed, was part of the act. He was truly powerless, left to the devices of the serpentine angel that coiled around his body. It was not an easy lesson to grasp, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs in either protest or omen, but the heat… that wonderful hellfire that radiated around and _inside_ the younger man kept the Abbot sane. What should have terrified him only sated his need and calmed his mind.

The Priest smiled at the Abbot's tranquility, smoothing his thumb back and forth over the man's jaw before he finally readjusted his body, curling his legs behind the chair and lifting his hips away until the man slipped out and growled at the coldness of the air.

"Thrust your hips," Father Grayson whispered into the Abbot's ear. The man replied with another growl and a hard jerk of his body which only sent the dripping erection sliding against the pale back of his lover. "You must move slowly, Brother, control yourself." The Priest smirked yet again, teasing with that perfect tone and gaze. The Abbot lowered his hips and tried again, this time approaching slowly. He could feel his dampened head gliding up the Priest's thigh, twitching as it moved ever closer to the prize, which complicated the task and frustrated him greatly, especially when a particularly strong jerk moved his cock out of position, just as it was pressing into the warm opening. "_Control yourself_," the Priest whispered, grinding his own erection against the man's abdomen, spreading a hot, pale droplets over the surface.

The Abbot let out a groan of satisfaction when he felt his length slip inside the younger man, re-kindling the heat of his body and more as the friction began to build. The Priest himself let out a husky breath as he countered each of the man's movements, dipping with each thrust and pulling back just far enough to keep the thrusts quick and needy.

"Yes, there… keep going…" the younger man whispered, his voice becoming almost frantic while his hands scrambled to undo the knotted silk binding the Abbot's tongue. The large man took in a gasp of a growl when the slip of fabric was nearly torn from his mouth and replaced with a hot, moving tongue. The kiss broke audibly, leaving the Abbot with an open, panting mouth while the Priest's blue eyes grew cold and cruel. "Can you trust me, Brother?" he asked, wrapping the silk around his lover's neck.

"No sooner than I trust the devil," the Abbot confessed, his voice a deep calm between his uneven breathing.

"A wiser choice than to fuck me, Abbot, but it will hardly help you now. Allow me to share a glimpse of the paradise you have damned yourself away from."

The Abbot snarled and choked as the silk drew taught over his neck, squeezing like the proverbial snake in the garden and cutting off his air. Above him, the Priest looked on with fear and fascination, his hands shaking as he held the fabric tightly.

"Don't fight it… don't fight…" the Priest whispered, bouncing over the man's cock as his breath began to wear thin. "Let me show you…"

The Abbot hissed and choked for air, his eyes turning bloodshot as his lips darkened and quivered. His wrists and ankles shook against the chains as he struggled and gasped, twisting against the bindings until his eyes rolled back and his body convulsed in orgasm. He slipped into darkness soon after.

* * *

"Back to me, Abbot…"

The man groaned lightly in reply to the whisper which pierced the darkness. He could feel fingers on his neck, gently pushing against the skin in a careful massage that no doubt brought him back from the gates of hell, or perhaps something far more sinister.

"Come back to me…"

Abbot Wilson opened his eye, meeting instantly with the blue heaven that looked back at him with such compassion and control. He took in a long, haggard breath. The chains, silk, and of course the _Priest's body_ still confined him, all tight against his skin, trapping him and protecting him from the cold. He noticed, barely, the smell of the fruit lingering in the air.

"The apple?" he rasped, his vision blurring and sharpening at its own accord. "You brought it here?"

"No, Brother," the Priest soothed, patting down the man's white hair as one might do to a fevered child. "You are imagining things, fooled by the blood rushing from your brain. Delusions are common at the brink of death."

"Death…" The Abbot asked, feeling his heart quiver, "I was dead?"

"Almost," the younger man whispered, still gently petting his lover's hair. "But I pulled you back, saved you before Death's final stroke. You climaxed before you slipped into unconscious, do you remember?"

"I remember, but… did you climax?" The Abbot asked, feeling woozy as his head lulled.

"Focus your breath," The Priest smiled, his eyes keen as leaned into the man's lips, a mock kiss that was mirrored by the man. "Yes, there, follow me… breathe together..."

They breathed slowly, each taking their time before the Priest pulled back with a dark smile. "Morning will be upon us soon, Brother." He lifted his hips and the man's semi-flaccid length slid out and fell against his leg with a particular type of springing bounce. "Let's get you out of these chains."

The last chain fell to the floor with a loud crack, but some other noise caught the attention of the Father.

"What is it?" The Abbot asked, pausing as well until the younger man grabbed his arms and pulled him quickly to his feet.

"Company," the Priest frowned, prying up a large slab of stone from the floor to reveal a very narrow staircase. "Listen closely, Abbot. Here is a small passageway that leads to the winery. Take it quickly."

"What is-"

"Obey me," he whispered, kicking the man's cassock down the passageway. "Do as I say, Abbot. If you have any hope of touching this body, you will obey me."

"Richard?"

A deep voice called from the corridor, and the Abbot clenched his jaw, immediately recognizing it as the Bishop Luthor. His eye widened, but he submitted to the Priest with a short nod, following his cassock down into the narrow passage. The stone above him was gently set into place and the Abbot was covered in darkness. Above him, he could just barely hear the Priest's movement, and then the sound of another body entering the chamber.

* * *

"Your Excellency," the Priest called in a low seductive voice as he welcomed the man into the chamber.

"You've been hiding from me again," the man tsked.

"Not hiding, Excellency, _waiting_."

"And in who's company?" the Bishop leered, walking over to the chair and grabbing a chain that was swaying ever so slightly. "This metal is warm."

"I was waiting some time."

"The manacles are far too large for your slender wrists and ankles, Richard. There is also the matter of _this_…" he pulled a bright red apple from his robes, turning it in his fingers to display the bites taken from it. "Caught in a lie, my boy, you might as well confess."

"Confess to what, exactly?" the young man teased, leaning against a large stone slab in a prideful sort of stature.

"It was a gift, fruit that traveled with me from warmer climates, just for you. And you toss it to the floor?" He quirked a brow, "It must have been something amazing for you to abandon such a treat in the dead of winter."

"I can think of other treats I would much rather have," he hummed, spreading his legs just slightly.

"Judging by the mess dripping down your thighs, I suspect you've already had your fill," the Bishop's voice became darker and he cast a small glare at the lack of modesty from his own treat. He sighed and gave a disappointed tilt of his head. "Who was it this time, boy? Father Garth? Abbot Wilson? The Red King himself?"

"A tempting list, your Excellency, but it was just a townsman who came for urgent penance and got a bit more. Admittedly, I _did_ get carried away, but I hardly think I've been filled by it."

"Your appetite for lust might well be the death of you," he smirked, tossing the apple aside and reaching for something hidden inside the breast of his holy robes. "If apples are not to your taste, then I have something even better in mind. Bend over, boy, that's it…"

The Priest smirked as he leaned against the cool stone, waiting again for the heat that filled him to the brim. He felt the brush of something cold and wet against his back, catching the smell of something spicy just before it was pushed inside him.

"ARG! It _burns_!" he hissed, thrashing about but finding that the Bishop was prepared to restrain him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and holding him down.

"Remarkable plant, isn't it? On my travels, I heard of a procedure called gingering. They take this root and insert it inside a horse or other work beast, causing extreme agitation and the appearance of youthful energy."

"I can see why," the Priest growled. "Burns like hell."

"I'll document that in our notes. I've been told it prevents the beasts from clenching their buttocks. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

"Your body."

"Asking for it so soon?" The man smirked. "You must really be worked up. Tell me, boy, who was it _really_ who came into your chamber?"

"If you want the truth, you'll have to work it out of me," he teased, wiggling his behind and trying to dislodge the ginger. "Give me your worst."

"I have." He smirked as he pulled out a small black berry that dangled from a delicate stem and leaf. "Belladonna. Aptly named, it is commonly ingested by women in the hopes of creating beautiful features."

"I specialize in botany, Excellency. And I know Deadly Nightshade when I see it."

"Do you know the taste?" The man's eyes turned dark as he squeezed the berry between his fingers, crushing it until the juice began to slide over his skin.

"Of course. I've been trained to recognize all aspects of it."

"Clever boy. Then surely you know the effects this plant will have when the toxins enter your bloodstream."

"You wouldn't," the Priest said, his voice clear and strong, but his eyes wavering.

"I already have. I coated the root in the crushed seeds. You'll feel it soon, I think. Your pupils are already showing the effects."

"Bastard…" the younger hissed, gasping when the heavy hand squeezed harder on the back of his neck and held him down.

"No need for such words, Brother. I studied the effects closely on multiple subjects. You may become a bit ill, but no harm done. Your punishment, for obstinacy, however, might be considerably more painful…"

* * *

From under the stone slab, Abbot Wilson clenched his fists, listening to the faint sound of leather against skin, of metal chains clashing, and the cries of agony echoing in the chamber. It was a pretty little sound, like the songs of birds at the first glow of twilight; but there was sorrow in it, desperation and pain. He pressed his ear to the stone, the memory of the Priest's command fading with each sound of the lash. He considered pushing the stone door open, stopping the torture that was most certainly occurring on the other side, but his promise to the young man stopped him. He grit his teeth and closed his eye, bearing every strike with more contempt than the skin that actually felt it. Patience, though a virtue, was a terrible gift at times.

* * *

"Fuck me, Excellency," the Priest writhed, chains dangling above his head as his head lolled slightly. "Take out the root and fuck me."

"Did he watch you come?" The whip felt warm in his grip as the Archbishop brought it down against the reddening skin. "You probably let him, didn't you? My pretty little slut. You never could keep your legs closed when it suited your fancy."

"I didn't Excellency, please. I-Ahh!" the young man hissed as his head was wrenched back by the hand tangled in his dark black hair.

"Don't lie, brat. Not to me. I've seen the lust in your eyes and I know better than to trust a pretty little mouth that whispers promises to one man and then sucks off another soon after. You're a nothing more than a jezebel in holy robes."

"_Your_ jezebel, Excellency." He panted, giving a pleading look over his shoulder. "Do with me what you will, I am your _toy_. But, please don't torture me any longer, I _need_ you inside me."

"Not today, I think. Let it be a lesson to you, _Father_, that my word is law here, and I demand obedience."

"No," the Priest whimpered, arching his back and spreading his knees. "Please, don't. I _need_ it. I _need you_. I only give myself to you… You're the only one who has seen my face at the brink of pleasure… I've always been loyal to you."

"Lies. Always lies from that mouth. Take some time and think about what you've done." He smiled coldly. Pulling one of the small black berries from inside his robes and pushing it against the Priest's lips, spreading the color over the surface. "I'll return after the morning service. Perhaps some time to yourself will allow you some time to reflect on your actions."

"Luthor, _please_!" The Priest cried, his body shaking and his eyes wide in fear. He cried out in pain as his head as wrenched to the side, moved by the backhanded blow to his cheek.

"Now look what you've done. You made me scar your pretty face." The Archbishop sighed as he picked at the bit of skin stuck in the prongs of his holy ring. "Yet another mark against your record. Be a good boy, and I'll consider coming back early to treat the wound." He patted the bloody cheek amicably and smiled before turning his back and leaving the young Priest, naked, shivering, and bleeding.

* * *

The Abbot clenched his fists at the silence. A moment before, he could hear the Priest whimpering, his cries died down from the frantic calling of the Archbishop, who had yet to return into the chamber. The silence frightened him, more so than any of the tortured screaming, and he simply could not take any more. With a growl, he pushed the heavy stone out of place, his robes swaying as the cassock buttons were left unfastened. He spotted the Father immediately; his naked ass pressed the top of the stone table and his body slumped to the side, hung rather loosely from the dark chains.

"Father Grayson?" he called, his voice the only echo in the cold chamber.

"Abbot…" the body replied meekly and the older man let out a sigh of relief. At least he was alive. His head rolled back and the Priest's body swayed. "Do you know that witches use nightshade to fly? I think I understand now. It feels like that… Like I'm flying…"

"You're not," the other replied rather lamely. "It's just the toxin running through you."

"Oh, I know, I know. Of course… but… it feels so…"

"He poisoned you, lad. And then left you for dead."

"I suppose, if _that's_ how you _want_ to think of it." The Priest laughed. "But it's just a game. We play it whenever we're together."

"And how often does he bring you within the range of death's grip? How often does he poison you? Drown you? Beat you within an inch of your life?"

"Don't forget, Abbot, I did the same for you just moments before." He smiled, peering over his shoulder at the Abbot and licking his stained lips. "It's mind-numbing, isn't it? The brief end to your life… suspension of the heart and the mind… No matter how many times I go there… it's never enough."

"I pray it will be… preferably before your games land you in the grave."

"He might kill me one day." The Priest sighed and swayed lightly against the chains. "But it will be intentional. He's too clever to let me die by accident. He knows my body too well… And all my skill was learned from him. I've become a better master than him, better at pushing the boundaries and better at bringing my lovers back from the edge. Knowing that drives him crazy, especially because he never intended to teach me." The Priest let out a small laugh. "That was the one thing he couldn't control. He never meant to share his skill or thirst… but I drank it in with every strike of his whip, learned by each of his actions."

"So you revel in that dominance also. Tell me, Grayson, if you love so much to be in power, why do you let him have any?"

"You don't like the Archbishop, do you? Is it jealousy that drives you to ask such questions?" He swayed dangerously in his chains and gave the man a heated look, "Remember, Abbot, there is danger in knowing."

"But once the fruit is crushed against your tongue, the craving cannot be denied, can it?" The Abbot asked darkly, his eye glaring at the smears of juice left over the Priest's mouth.

The Priest seemed to ponder the question before he tiled his head and smiled, licking his stained lips. "You're right. And it is what I cannot deny that drives me to him."

"What you can't deny?"

"Lust, Brother. Pleasure and pain… it's all the same when I'm lost in the spell of lust. My craving is insatiable. The Archbishop knows, and is usually only too happy to give me what I _need._"

"Usually at a cost, I'm sure."

"There is cost in all exchanges. For instance, you can still taste my kiss, can't you? It lingers on your tongue, but the warmth must be fading… The more it fades, the more the coldness sets in… and the greater your desire for more grows. You are like me, Brother, I can tell. Now that you know of the pleasures found in flesh, you'll crave it, seek it out…" He smirked, lowering his gaze so that he was peering at the man through his thick lashes. "I can help you find release, and all it will cost is my own release. Quid pro quo, Abbot."

"You're insatiable."

"Possibly, we'll never know until we try." The edges of his mouth quirked into what looked like a dizzy smirk. "Come, Brother. Touch me. _Take me_."

Abbot Wilson made the mistake of glancing down, catching a glimpse of the Priest's erection. He swallowed hard but held back from reaching out.

"The Archbishop has demanded that, no matter the games I play, I will never let the other party see me climax. That's why I cut off your air, led you into darkness… It's the last shred of control he has left. The only thing I haven't taken from him…" He arched his back, his posture evoking a primal reaction in the other man's body. "But here, I am chained. I would be helpless to stop it if you took me now. And if you just happened to see… well… there's no helping that, is there?" His legs spread apart slightly, knees pressed hard against the stone. "You want that, don't you? Don't you want to know? To _defy_ his tyranny?"

Something in the air felt wrong, as though a chilling trap was waiting in the shadows to snap, a snake in the grass with venom ready… But he already knew that, and still he couldn't turn away… not when such a ripe piece of fruit hung in chains before him, giving every reason to abandon his wits and _submit_ to temptation. He wasn't even sure how it happened… One moment, he was staring at the Priest, the next, their tongues were entwined, a mad dash of moans and caresses as his hands roamed the pale flesh and his erection slid against the young man's back.

"Pull out the root," the shackled man whispered, his neck craned back, looking almost painful. His kiss-swollen lips parted in a gasp as a pair of thick fingers entered him, pinching the stinging plant with his fingernails and dragging it out. The young man exhaled a long and grateful breath, his eyelids fluttering in the dim light until they opened with a piercing blue gaze. "Now fuck me, Abbot."

The words went straight to the Abbot's groin, engorging it with heated blood as he crawled onto the stone slab and pressed his chest against the Priest's back. "This will hurt, you realize. The juice of that plant is still inside you."

"It is already mixed with your release," the Priest whispered back, his breath purposely thin as he positioned his hips. "Give me more."

The Abbot felt his fingers, numb with the cold, wrap around the slender waist. The Priest was warm as before, perhaps even more so as his body fought against the Nightshade poison. A thin veil of blood colored his cheeks in a blush, and those big glassy blue eyes were dazed but aroused as he lifted his tailbone, waiting for the friction of the man's thrust. He took in a long hiss of air as the Abbot's cock, wet with a thin layer of his saliva, entered with a slow and stinging breach that made his muscles tighten and his knees shake against the stone.

"I'm inside you," the man whispered in a low and husky tone that oozed into the Priest's mind.

The younger man couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Hardly a virgin any longer, but the man was still green and easily excited. His body, however, seemed like it was made for passion. It was firm, shaped perfectly with broad shoulders and a tapered waist that led to a perfectly sized organ. It filled the Priest to the brim, stretching to the point that it was almost painful, or very painful when the ginger stung his insides. He didn't always like his partners to be so large, but with the Abbot, it seemed impractical to consider anything smaller.

"Tell me, Brother… How does his Excellency draw out your passion? Is it only pain that makes you sing so beautifully? Or is it only the lust and want that drive you mad?" the Abbot's voice was cold as his hands dug into the Priest's hips. "Is pleasure all the same when it splatters out your cock?"

"You tell me," the Priest quipped as hips moved in a quickened pace, keen on reaching his own release.

A cold hand closed around his throat and the Priest smirked. The Abbot didn't squeeze, at least not tightly, but they could hear the change in the younger man's breath as it became drawn and slightly haggard.

"Perhaps I should not tempt disappointment and simply use the skills that please you most…" His eye was cruel and hard. "I wonder if I can bring you back from that sharp edge..."

"You lack the skill and the conviction, Abbot. You would only kill me. Best stick to what you know." He rolled his hips and hummed, his ass pressed against the man's body.

"Indeed, then perhaps I should let you take the lead?" He smirked, ignoring the protest from the younger man as pulled out and laid flat on the table.

"You aim to torture me, Abbot, but at least I know you do it in spite of your own pleasure." He smirked, turning to face the man while straddling his hips, erection dripping slightly as he moved.

There was a small, thrilling comfort in the Abbot's words, an understanding that the older man was not intent on taking over. It was a dizzy realization that left a ghost of a genuinely grateful smile across the lips of the Priest. He watched, pupils wide and glossy, as he sunk down around the Abbot once again, chains singing as he moved in a slow rhythm that evoked yet more images of snakes slithering in the sun. Slade closed his eye, letting his head tilt back and relishing in the warmth. Only the sound of the Priest crying out broke his trance.

The Priest gasped and moaned, cock weeping as he bounced against the man's hips, squeezing and twisting. "Touch me," he pleaded, eyes growing desperate as his body writhed.

Abbot Wilson did what he was told, letting his hands roam over the boy's chest, fingertips playing against the raised flesh where sharp knots had cut into his skin, leaving behind red and angry marks that had obviously been treated to prevent scarring... Perhaps that's why the Archbishop chose the boy's back this time, so that the Brother would not be able to reach…

"Ahh! Yes!" the Priest groaned, bouncing the chains ever higher as he fucked himself on the man's length.

It was apparent at that moment that he wasn't playing any of his games. Perhaps it was the drug, or maybe the Archbishop's refusal that made him so lost to his own passions to even flirt with toys and twisted motives. The Abbot didn't much care _why_ the boy was so aroused, only that _he_ was there and able to sate his need for flesh, for release. Quid pro quo, he supposed, but he knew it was something more… under the desire for his release was the realization that his desires had been ignited, rather than sated. Curiosity and temptation were sparking into obsession and he wanted the lad that led him from the cold church halls and into the heated belly of debauchery and carnal pleasure even more. The want and need burned into him, scarring his brain with depraved intentions. The brightest flame in his growing collection of sins was the desire to see the Priest in climax, to watch his eyes during the heated moments of pleasure and release. Perhaps it was only the knowledge that the Archbishop held that act as sacred… that he wanted to boy's pleasure to belong only to him. Brother Grayson had been correct, the Abbot had no liking towards the man, more than that, he _hated_ him… And yet, he wasn't sure _why_. Jealousy, perhaps? Rivalry?

The elder closed his hand around the younger mans shaft, watching as a thick bead of precum welled up and dripped tantalizingly from the tip. "Mmn, yes! More!" the Priest breathed, his head tilting back before it sprang forward, gaze locked onto the man's eye as if, instinctually, he knew what would get the elder's blood boiling.

The Abbot responded in turn with a fierce thrust of his hips, burying his length deep inside the lithe body, watching his chest heave and the red marks fade slightly into the flushed pink skin. His thick hands fell onto the slender hips, dragging the Priest down harder against his erection and growling as he neared that hallowed release.

"Ah, God!" the Priest cried, his eyes lifting as his body stiffened, the tale-tell sign of his orgasm looming in the air as he wrenched his head to the side, crying out into his arm as if he meant to stifle his screams.

"Don't hide," The Abbot breathed, sweat forming tiny beads over their skin as he reached up and gently cupped the boy's chin in hand and guiding the pale face back where he could see it. "Let me watch."

He gave a long, devilish smile as the blue eyes gazed into him, filling him with the same desperation and longing that he felt wandering the cold hallways of the church. And suddenly, like the first brilliant ray of sunlight on the horizon, or the first flame bursting into life from a blackened pyre, the young man's eyes grew wide and bright as his entire body quaked, he let out a hard, desperate moan as hot streams of his release splattered over the man's chest. The Abbot, lost in wonder, wrapped his hand around the smaller shaft and pumped generously, relishing the almost painful whimper sent out from the Priest as the blue eyes unleashed waves of hellfire through his very soul. He realized only by the nearly painful sensation that he was also climaxing, emptying the last of his passions into the lithe, quivering body until both stilled.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, taking in the final sight of those wonderful, searing blue eyes that brought him to the edge of paradise. How terrible that the hellfire he'd feared and craved felt as warm and welcoming as heaven's light… More terrible was the ever growing desire to see it again, at any cost… But most terrible was the desire to steal it away and keep it all to himself, much like the Archbishop had done… That was a dangerous game to play, especially against such a powerful partner. He needed to be careful as he proceeded. The Abbot swallowed hard at his own obsession, cupping the Priest's cheek in his hand and relishing the way the lad pushed into it, closing his eyes and giving a gentle, self-satisfied sort of moan. "I am pleased I could give you such pleasure, Brother," he spoke softly and watched the blue eyes open slightly. "Perhaps… You would like to meet me again? Tonight?"

"Mmn." The eyes closed again and peace fell over the boyish face, leaving the Abbot in a warm state of mind as he lifted the boy off his hips and swung his legs over the side of the stone table.

The man stood, running a hand through his moonlight hair before walking to a wall filled with keys. He selected one designed for the locks that bound the young man's wrists before turning back with a serious and confident expression. "If it would please you… I would do anything…"

The Priest had to fight off his wicked smile. For a moment, he feared he'd fucked a wolf in sheep's clothing, but the man was hardly more than a lamb. An _alpha_ lamb… imagine that. A _fanged_ alpha lamb… even better… It created an interesting dynamic that could make for a very fun game between two very prideful men…

"I can offer you protection… I would never take away your power like the Archbishop. I only seek to improve it. I'll give you anything you need for your games, so long as I am in them," he beseeched the Priest as he slowly, almost sensuously, unlocked the bonds.

"Protection…" he repeated almost breathlessly. Poor lamb was walking into a snare. He nuzzled into his chest, feeling the warmth and exhaling wistfully, hiding the dark glow in his eyes. "Yes… tonight… after the bell tower strikes twice… meet me in the vestry."

"By my word, I will see you there," the Abbot spoke gently, letting the younger man lower his arms, and kissing his forehead gently, not noticing the satisfied tilt on the Priest's lips.

* * *

"Your Excellency? I present Abbot Slade Joseph Wilson."

The Abbot held his chin firm, nose tilted slightly upwards as the Choir Boy bowed to the Archbishop and quietly closed the door as he left, leaving them alone in the small, crowded room. Scrolls and old books lined the walls, and a well-worn ornamental rug decorated the floor. It was a study to many of the students of the church, but the Archbishop always coveted that particular room for his visits.

"Abbot Wilson," he said in a rich, pleasant tone. Though not quite as tall as the Abbot, his headdress made the man glance up slightly, something that bothered him greatly in retrospect. Not to be unnerved, the Abbot turned the glance into a slow nod of the head, and made sure to lock his gaze into the dark green eyes.

"Your Excellency," the white-haired man replied, stopping short when the Archbishop held out his hand as an implication to kiss the holy ring- specifically, the ring that left a large ugly mark the Priest's cheek. Begrudgingly, the Abbot did just that, kneeling before his superior and placing his lips over the jewel.

"You might wonder why I called you to this chamber," he began with a fox's smile over his lips, turning and walking behind the small oak desk before taking his seat and motioning to the chair on the opposite side.

"I have little wonder of that, Excellency," the man replied coolly, taking the seat with no outward hesitation, despite his gut telling him to remain standing. "You wish to speak of Brother Grayson."

The Archbishop gave a surprised smirk and ran his hand over his smooth-shaven chin. "Straight to the matter at hand… I like that. I suppose then you don't wish to deny that you spent last night fucking like rabbits?"

"I suppose then you have proof of such activities?" The man kept his gaze steady.

"I would hardly _need_ it- though it _was_ unmistakably _you_ that was bound to the chair, out cold while the Priest rode out the last of his delectations... He must be quite fond of you to play such games so soon." The Archbishop gave a gentle shake of his head. "But that's not why I had you brought to me, Abbot. I mean you no ill will."

"Then what purpose is in our meeting, if not for you to threaten me?"

"To warn you. Richard is playing you like a fool. And you're certainly not the first." He paused, waiting for the man to react, but receiving only a skeptical glare. "He'll toy with you, fuck you, seduce you, and then _destroy_ you. I've seen it more times than I care to admit. Though I admit he has a _knack_ for it. Nearly destroyed me once or twice."

"Destroyed _you?!_" the Abbot's voice growled as he nearly rose from his seat. He schooled his anger back just in time to catch the amused smirk on the Archbishop.

"Yes… I suppose he lied to you about how it all started… I'm not even sure myself, but I've been able to put some pieces together over time. He was a lad when his parents died. It was a terrible murder, from what I heard. Taken in by a knight following the incident, but seeing little use for the boy, Richard was sent to work in a nunnery. It was there he trained under Sister Isley, who had a remarkable talent with botany… He stayed there until he began to show signs of _maturity_. Through the following years after that, he studied at various institutions in cooperation with our great church, eventually was ordained as a Priest... Then rumors began to spread. Rumors of the lad's affinity for carnal sin, or rather, for _finding_ those with a natural inclination for it… and this is where the story becomes far less speculative, for the rumors drew me to him, and I saw firsthand how true whispers were."

"So, you mean to blame the Priest for your own corruption? A novel tactic."

"Oh, hardly, Abbot. I've come to terms with my own demons. Indeed, I _thrive_ with them. But it was _Richard_ who called them out from me. He's quite sly… I noticed him immediately when I visited the church, likewise, _he noticed me_. After that… well, it was only a matter of time before I joined the ranks of his many devotees."

"And when did you introduce him to such… brutal methods?"

"Did he tell you that? _Ha!_ That's a first for him. Usually he's one to take all the credit. No. I was never his teacher in our games… True, I have come to dominate him, but it's more a matter of _survival_. He'd have tired of me otherwise. And _that_ is truly a dangerous game to play with him."

"How do you mean?" the Abbot held his glare in place, but he could feel the doubt mingling with reason in his mind. Which man spoke the truth?

"His inclinations towards debauchery are a matter of talent, but this predisposition to cause suffering is without measure. His games are always cruel, but the more he tires of a partner, the closer that partner finds themselves to an untimely end." The archbishop lifted his hand quickly. "Not death, no. He's strictly against killing… But I've seen many of his partners end up in strange circumstances... usually by some form of poison or another. Paralysis… blindness… sterility… even madness… He's induced them all upon the partners with various poisons. I assume he learned the trade at the nunnery, and that his _rituals_ began as a type of _punishment_ for those whom he successfully seduced… He made a joke of it once… insinuating that he was saving the good honest men by making sure the sinners met only him in the night…"

"Do you believe that?"

"I hardly think it matters _why_ he does it," the man laughed. "I've made it a point to become familiar with the various poisons- a precaution that has saved me a great deal of trouble. But I think he's playing a new game now… he intends to drive me mad with want and jealousy… He hopes you will be my undoing." The Abbot gave a skeptical glare, but the Archbishop held up his hand in explanation. "He's not been rid of me for years, despite his efforts to sever ties and move from church to church. I'm surely the longest lasting of his partners, but my attempts to keep him from collecting new souls into his practice have not only failed miserably, it's turned him against me. He's insatiable. I had managed to keep him under control as of late… that is… until he chose you."

"You think he means to pit me against you?" the Abbot replied skeptically, feeling a chill sinking into his bones.

"Has he not?" the Archbishop quirked a brow. "It had all the signs of it. Do you not find it curious that he _waited_ until I was making a visit to this church to act on his carnal wants? Or that he _lied_ to you about the nature of our relationship? Or that he made sure you heard how I tortured him in the chamber… Let me share a secret with you, Abbot. Brother Grayson _knew_ you would not venture deep into the tunnels when I entered his chamber of torture. And, yes. I _knew_ you were under the stone slab while I used the Brother's devices against him. I knew because he _told_ me of his plan while you were unconscious. He begged me with tears in those perfect blue eyes to join in on his game… and I did. I play his games because there is no better way to find out his motives. It is, after all, how I discovered his plan with you."

The Abbot rose from his chair, delivering a menacing look that had no effect on the Archbishop. His mind reeled, taking him back to the Priest's chamber and the memories of waking up to the smell of the apple… was it just an illusion as the Brother had said? Or perhaps… was it proof of the Priest's lies?

"The question now, Abbot, is what will you do with this knowledge?" The Archbishop rose from his seat as well, giving a cruel smile as he walked around the small room. "I doubt you are willing to end the game at this point, and I am even more skeptical that he would let you. So… Will you play his game until _your_ end… or will you perhaps _join me_ in beating him at it?" He reached the doorway and gently opened the door. "Of course, I don't expect an answer at this moment. You'll need to distinguish the truth on your own... I just hope you choose wisely."

"I intend to, Excellency," the Abbot said with a glare as he walked from the room. He turned lightly as he drifted further down the hall, giving a deadly expression. "To your end or mine…"

* * *

The first strike of the bell made the Abbot turn on his bed, and his feet hit the floor by the second.

The church was still as he carefully opened his door and moved through the darkened hallways with the ring of the bells still echoing through the cold stones. He swallowed hard at the doubt in his throat, ignoring the ominous feeling as he crept down the narrow staircase to the vestry. Pausing at the door, his mind ran through every moment of their encounters, silently calculating each possible lie and weighing the chances that he should trust what either man had to say. His brows knitted together and a frown grew above his chin. It was wisest to trust neither of the men, and he knew that. But when it truly came time to choose… could he even fathom not seeing that beautiful hellfire again?

He opened the door slowly, immediately noticing the figure by the window. Outlined by the soft moonlight as it filtered through the frosted windows, the Priest was cast in shadows. Barely visible in the shadows were the faint glow of the two light blue eyes.

"Abbot," the Priest welcomed him amiably, "I was worried… Thought you might not come tonight."

"I doubt I could stay away," the man answered honestly, eye watching the delicate hands pull open his cassock, button by button, until he let it slide from his shoulders to the cold floor.

"Come to me," he whispered, extending his hand, reaching into the darkness of the room and beckoning the other forward.

The Abbot did just that, letting caution and common sense fall back into the many shadows of the room as their tongues met and slid against each other in a deep, consuming kiss.

"Mmn- quickly Abbot," the Priest pulled at the man's buttons, frantically running his hands over the thick black material.

The Abbot felt himself hardening under the caresses as the Priest worked his way down the buttons, finally reaching the man's trousers and untying the thin string that held them in place. One swift tug later, and the fabric crumpled to the floor, joined shortly by the cassock as the Priest pushed it over the broad shoulders and down the muscled arms.

They stood for a moment, naked in the moonlight and both noticeably aroused. The Abbot leaned forward, giving a light kiss on the wet lips before lowering himself slowly, delivering kisses and small bites down the body, gently licking the marred flesh on the teen's chest. Then he reached the hardened length, giving a small kiss before running his tongue over the warm slit and then rolling his tongue over the head.

The Priest gave a sweet moan, leaning against the window and smiling down at the head of white hair as the Abbot sucked and licked his way down his swollen cock. One small smirk later, and he ran his fists through the snowy locks, weaving this fingers in them and pushing the man deeper until his tongue slid down the side of his balls.

Following the grasp over his hair, the Abbot bobbed and sucked until the Priest gave a long, less than silent groan as he came inside his partner's mouth. The Abbot coughed slightly, but had little time to dwell on it as the hand pulled him to a stand and the Priest's mouth was on his once again. The hot tongue slid inside his mouth collecting and smearing the cum between their kiss as a pair of arms coiled around his shoulders and legs slithered around his body.

Expertly, the Priest lifted himself over the Abbot's hips, pushing his ass against the hard and leaking tip of the man's erection and letting himself sink over it with a passionate gasp. The older man gave a surprised look at the slickness of the Priests ass before realizing that the man had already prepared himself with some manner of oil lubricant. That thought was quickly pushed to the side as the lithe body began to move, slowly rocking his hips and lifting himself on the Priest's shoulders, sending pleasurable waves of heat and pressure over the man's cock.

Taking the initiative, the man pushed the Priests against the glass, thrusting in time with his gyrations and moaning when the younger man clenched around his erection and gave a wonton moan. The Abbot watched blissfully as the glass behind their naked frenzy clouded in a beautiful aura, distorting the moonlight and creating iridescent streaks over the surface.

"Ahh! God, yes!" The Priest cried, gasping and moving wildly as the Abbot buried himself deeper with each stroke, pulling back until his length threatened to slide out before plunging back inside with a growl.

Losing their grip in the sweat forming on their bodies, the Abbot carefully wrapped his hand around the Priest's back, noting the large raised welts from his earlier punishment, but pushing such thoughts out of his mind as he laid the Brother Grayson on the floor, giving his forehead a gentle kiss before thrusting inside. The pace was set on grueling as they moved in sync, moaning together as skin slapped and rubbed together. The Abbot sat up swiftly, lifting the teen's legs and fucking him quickly and deeply until the younger man let out a cry of passion, his eyes blooming once again and glowing with the unearthly hellfire that the Abbot had seen before. Lost in the beauty and heat of the blue eyes in climax, he groaned loudly, thrusting inside the Priest and feeling his cock swell and unleash wave after wave into the quivering body.

It took all his strength not to collapse on top of his lover; instead, he pulled out slowly and gently rolled to the side, collapsing to his back on the cold stone and panting. His body felt heavy and his hot skin stung hot against the floor. He closed his eye, letting the image of the Priest's eyes during climax burn into him memory. He wanted to keep it. It was a perfect scar etched into the purity he spent his life protecting.

The Priest gave a gentle chuckle. "Amazing," he whispered, running his fingertips over his sensitive flesh and staring at the moonlit sky through the window. The unearthly glow was fading from his eyes, but he still seemed lost in a haze of want and passion, touching himself lightly and letting out tiny gasps as fingertips ran over the welts on his stomach, smearing them with the sticky mess from his release.

The Abbot let out a long sigh, rubbing his forehead and thinking carefully about his next move. It was hardly wise to stand against the Archbishop… but those eyes… the captivating hellfire… he couldn't imagine life without that _heat_. He supposed, in the end, it was simply a matter of whose game he wanted to play. With the Archbishop, he risked destroying the Priest, the very thing that saved him from the cold emptiness that had crept into his bones… But with the Priest, he risked bringing destruction upon himself, and in more ways than one…

Of course, there was _one_ _other_ option to consider. He turned his head and watched the Priest move his hands all over his body, moaning gently as if he was lost in some private world. The Abbot gave a tiny quirk of his lips, forming a devilish smirk above the white patch of hair on his chin. The Priest and the Archbishop were too powerful to destroy, and too dangerous to join. To win, the Abbot needed to play his _own_ game. He needed to pit them _against_ each other to keep the Archbishop under his thumb and the Priest under his hips. It was easy enough in theory… both men seemed to vie for his allegiance, and he could play _both_ sides until he found enough wants and weaknesses to keep them in his control. It was a dangerous game. Vicious… dishonorable… ruthless... He would need all the wicked skills and wit to prevail against his fellow players.

A hot shiver ran up his spine as the Abbot's smirk turned feral. For the first time in his life, The Abbot Slade Joseph Wilson felt at peace. It was a hot, deadly calm that soaked into his body as the plan formed clearly in his mind. As each step fell into place, the path to his victory became more tangible. Cunning plots, backhanded truths and well-phrased lies… He liked the feeling.

"Why, Abbot. That smirk is positively _sinful_," the Priest purred. "Whatever are you thinking of?"

"How best to protect you," he lied and followed it with a backhanded truth. "The Archbishop knows about our meetings. It's clear that he means to intimidate me, but he under-estimates what I will do to keep you."

"And what _will_ you do?" The Priest whispered, his eyes mocking concern.

The Abbot's smirk darkened as he felt a bit of hellfire burning in his own eye. He rolled over, pinning the Priest to the floor and locking his lips to the younger man's ear. "_Everything_."

The Priest gave shiver, eyes beginning to glow once again in the darkened room. He let out a moan and spread his legs at the gentle nudging from the man's groin, surprised to find that it was already pumping blood back into the thick shaft.

"The Archbishop thinks that I'll abandon what we've started." The Abbot played carefully around the truth as he tilted his hips and slowly sank into the Priest.

The younger man wrapped his arms around his lover's neck, coiling them tighter until their lips were nearly touching.

"You won't will you?" he asked, his tone veritable plea, hellfire dancing in the light of his eyes. "You can't leave me alone with him."

The Abbot gave a protective glare into the growing blue flames, delivering yet another backhanded truth. "As long as I'm around, you are never alone."

"What will you do?" the Priest whispered in a voice as sweet fruit.

The Abbot leaned forward, capturing the younger man's lips with his own and tasting the sweetness and venom in their kiss. His kiss drifted down, teasing against the red marks on his chest. "Careful, Brother," he whispered back before kissing the skin above his heart. "There is danger in knowing."

* * *

A/N: Headdesk.


End file.
